


Hold Up A Light

by jacksmannequin



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Career, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shop, Alternate Universe - Photographer, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Photography, i dont know yet, i dont think it'll be long, its probably going to be deep, more characters will probably be added later on, mostly fluff idk, patrick is a photographer, pete is annoying, probably ten chapters or so
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-03-24
Packaged: 2018-05-28 19:45:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 740
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6342571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jacksmannequin/pseuds/jacksmannequin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick is a broke photographer with a shitty job that barely helps him getting through the month. What if one day, a dark haired boy with no aspirations other than writing shitty poems decided to make his way into Patrick's life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hold Up A Light

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic that is not a one shot. I don't know how to feel about that and I have no idea where it's going. But yes, it's going to be a Peterick. And yeah, I'm still looking for a beta. If anyone wants to help me, I'd be eternally grateful !!  
> I'm probably going to post this fic on my italian wattpad account as a Frerard, because I'm lame like that. Just so you know. I hope this ""chapter"" got you interested !!! :)  
> Feedback is much appreciated. Sorry for the long ass author's note.  
> Title from Hold Up a Light by Take That.  
> Also on [Wattpad](https://www.wattpad.com/story/66844413-hold-up-a-light-%E2%98%BE-peterick)

Patrick sits down on the grass, exhausted from another normal, boring day at work. He is a bartender at one of the many coffee shops in Chicago, and that day had literally stressed him out. He's used to the rush on midday, but for some reason today's was even worse. He'd had to spend all of his shift running around like crazy, taking orders and giving change. He hasn't even had someone to help him; his boss apparently thinks it is not needed, no matter how many times Patrick tells him that he can't serve all those customers on his own. That's why he ends up being totally drained most of the time. Today is not an exception.

He sighs and lies down, moving his gaze to the sky and admiring the sunset. He adjustes his glasses, thinking about how his camera could capture perfectly the beautiful scenery in front of him.

Patrick loves taking pictures. It just makes sense to him. When someone asks him where his passion came from, he simply smiles and tells them to think about that thing fifth graders usually say when they get stared at.  _Take a picture, it'll last longer._ He always gets confused looks. He doesn't get what's so difficult to understand. That's why he gives up and says something like,  _nevermind, forget it_ , or  _whatever man, I'll explain later,_ but then he never does.

He likes the feeling of holding the picture in his hands, knowing that he's keeping a scenery that might  _never_  be recreated again. He loves taking pictures of the sky. Especially when it's raining. You could say, so what? It rains all the time, it's no big deal, you can take a picture of the rain whenever you want.

Well, he has a theory about that. While it is true that rain can be seen whenever the weather allows you to, you could never see that exact scene ever again. The clouds will never align in the same way. The sky could be of a different tone. By taking a picture, you make sure to save and keep that scenery  _forever_.

He'd rather take a picture than painting a portrait of something. And it's not like he can't: he majored in art, after all, he's pretty capable of creating a decent piece of art. Even then, he discovered his true love for photography only after graduating.

The thing is: pictures tell the truth, paintings don't. In a painting, you see what the author wants  _you_  to see. They're the artist, they can get whatever they want on their canvas. The rule goes both ways: when you see a painting, you read it based on your own experiences. Another person could have different thoughts on the same piece of art.

Photography is the opposite. The camera captures what's in front of the photographer as it is. No alterations. You take a picture of a tree, and that's what it is. A tree.   
Patrick likes that. Being able to hold in his hands something that recreates reality exactly how everyone sees it.

That's why nobody gets his point of view. Every time he tries to explain his thoughts to someone, they just tell him either to shut up or to keep it simple. He  _can't_. That's also why he's mostly given up by now.

He opens his eyes, refocusing on what's in front of him. He hadn't even noticed that he was keeping them closed.   
It's just that he has too much stuff going on in his head. Lately, his photos kind of are at a dead end. He takes a lot of them, but somehow they're never what he wants them to be. Whether it's the wrong angle, light or focus, he is never happy with the result.

He once used to make a living out of his passion. But photos don't feed you, unless you're Annie Leibovitz or some shit, so he ended up working at that crappy coffee house with even crappier customers who always get him in trouble. And yet, sometimes he has problems to get to the end of the month without seeking help from his parents.

He snorts at that thought and gradually stands up, gazing one last time at the sky, almost completely dark. How did he even not noticed that it's already night?   
He then grabs his bag and starts walking away from the park. Whatever. He'll think about it tomorrow.


End file.
